


It Lasts for Always

by YellowDistress



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22919653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowDistress/pseuds/YellowDistress
Summary: Peter has never asked anyone to kill for him, especially not Tony.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 25
Kudos: 380





	It Lasts for Always

**Author's Note:**

> Got another oneshot I've been working on! Hope you enjoy!  
> WARNING: There is the mention of cutting ones wrist, but it's not being done as self-harm, it is being used as very brief torture but don't worry, nothing graphic. But if this triggers you don't read!
> 
> ALSO! The reason that it is tagged not civil war compliant is because the team is still together, but things are tense cause Siberia still happened. Also Pepper and Tony are still taking a break, so frick the timeline with Homecoming.  
> And people bicker a lot in this, but it's Tony and Natasha, so what do you expect? Tony is kind of dark in this one as well, and idk what's up with me recently and writing Tony to be so emo.

Peter could not look at him.

The back of the moving truck shook back and forth, and Peter pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders where he felt as if he was freezing to death. Ice clung to his hair, his bangs and his teeth chattered incessantly. And God, he was in trouble – and maybe this was his fault, but his heart wouldn’t stop pattering and slamming and smothering him like he did not deserve to exist anymore in the icy northern portions of the United States – out where he was not supposed to be. He stared at the back of the seat in front of him where he was crouched, there were no seats in the back of the covered truck he was in – maybe it was a fucking van…He did not know.

Peter breathed out slowly, carefully sliding his eyes upward to look at the person at an angle to him in the passenger seat. The driver’s seat was directly in front of him, he could not see who was navigating the vehicle, but he knew and he did not know why because there was a perfectly good suit that could be flown within and Peter knew he should not have gone. The woman in the passenger seat looked rather passive – even though Peter knew, she too, was in trouble.

She glanced at him and grimaced. Peter could feel water in his lungs but he was afraid that even coughing would set off the person in the driver’s seat, so he ducked like a turtle further into his blanket.

“Don’t look at him, Romanoff,” The person in the driver’s seat – Peter swallowed vomit with fear, “Alright? Enough conspiring.”

Natasha sighed, “We aren’t.”

“This is your goddamned fault,” Peter could imagine him – Peter’s idol, his favorite person to hang around, the person who had been sharing knowledge, and time, and technology – pointing his finger because he felt the slight tug of the truck-van ‘?’ Peter stuck his fingernails between his teeth and bit down, shutting his eyes tighter. The voice, the person, God…

Mister Stark.

He continued, “You get that? Your fault. You’re the adult and – the second I get a hold of Rogers he’s fucked too. Absolute idiot.”

“You wanted him to join the Avengers,” Natasha deadpanned, “You were going to offer him an entire position before he turned you down. We figured that was well-enough permission to bring him along. It’s not like you were giving him any attention, while he was sitting with Hogan doing homework. All the while, you were somewhere crying about your ex breaking your heart and probably even Barnes –“

The brakes slammed. Peter plunged forward, nearly smashing his face into the back of the driver’s seat. Natasha grabbed the dash, and she looked concerned only a moment before looking at Mister Stark with a blank expression. Peter sat stiff, frightened to move. Frightened to breathe. His fingers tightened into the fabric of the seat and he shut his eyes, trying to inhale past his bitter anxiety and upset.

They were in so much trouble.

“Do you wanna get out?” Mister Stark asked, “I really have no qualms stranding you on a snowy upstate highway. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding your way back.”

Peter peeked. Still crouched. Natasha looked as if she was fighting between pride: wanting to open the door and slam it in Mister Stark’s face. Or logic: knowing it’d just be easier to shut up. Might would save a lot of time and some cold toes. Peter was in that lonely place – a deep memory of when his parents were alive. He had so few of those. It had been Ben and May for so long. But there was a time, sitting in his car seat and watching them argue when he had felt lonely. Abandoned and invisible and Peter tried to pretend his back wasn’t covered with someone else’s blood and that there hadn’t been a massacre.

And that the person who he had come to see as a vital portion of his life hadn’t committed the act.

Peter had never asked anyone to kill for him.

Natasha huffed, pushed herself back in the chair and put her feet on the dashboard before ordering, “Drive drama-queen.”

And they did.

Peter felt ghost fingers on the back of his neck and a knee digging into his lower spine. He felt himself choking on water, but still, he did not cough because that would draw unwanted attention and as much as he feared being dead, he sort of wished he was. At least in that brief, collapsible moment where he glanced down at his hands and saw wounds from clawing at the rocks under water, the way his gloves had given way as if they weren’t even Stark tech. And then ice breaking and blood spewing and Peter – it was his fault someone was dead.

He leaned forward and pressed his face into the seat in front of him.

And exhaled.

_“Fuckin’ hell –“_

_“You really ain’t shit without those Avengers.”_

_“Shoulda stayed in New York, wannabe.”_

_Charging. Electricity._

_Ice cracking. The rush of cold water as the knee left his back and red mingled into the water._

“Parker.”

“Parker!”

Peter gasped. His body tensed and his eyes opened where he nearly collapsed from leaning against the back of the driver’s seat. A hand was gripping his arm, and Peter sat up straight when he saw Mister Stark looking at him with a blank expression. Almost irritated, and Peter felt like he was going to vomit as he imagined the hand of the suit charging and shooting to kill. He had never seen Iron Man’s blaster do that to a person, but it had shredded into the baddie’s body and Peter had been covered in the man’s insides and –

“We’re here.”

Peter didn’t know where ‘here’ was, but he basically jumped from the vehicle as if he had been burned and swayed a bit as his head rushed from the sudden movement. Peter blinked in the darkness, the sun had disappeared and Peter heard snow in the background. Natasha was standing near the front of the vehicle, hands on her hips and she was frowning in the light from the headlights. This was not the Compound. Nor was it New York City. But they appeared to still be upstate somewhere, but Peter figured they could be miles from home considering they had flown the Quinjet to the location of the mission and now had somewhat been kidnapped by Mister Stark and abandoned with a van/truck.

“Where?” Peter croaked. He was still soaked. Still dressed in his suit, minus his mask, wrapped tightly as he pulled the blanket over his shoulders.

Mister Stark shook his head, “A nice little cabin location until Rogers can get his ass here with the jet. I’m not driving that hunk of junk all the way back to the Compound, and I can’t leave a minor in the hands of Romanoff. Obviously, that was a bad idea in the first place.”

Natasha didn’t even look at Tony, instead she looked back at Peter again like she had done in the truck and before words could be said, Mister Stark ordered again, “Don’t look at him, Romanoff.”

“I’m not allowed to ever look at him again?” She rolled her eyes.

“No,” Mister Stark had begun to walk away towards a path Peter had only just noticed. He held up an index finger, “As a matter of fact, you, Rogers, and anyone else involved in this little escapade is banned from fucking looking at the kid, speaking to him, influencing him in anyway.”

Natasha tilted her head, “And you’re so great?”

“Better than you,” Tony spat, “Look at any of Ross’ databases.”

Again, she rolled her eyes so hard Peter thought of all the times May told him his eyes were going to get stuck like that. Mister Stark began to walk, and Peter glanced one more time at Natasha before rushing behind him like a lost puppy, desperate to be reapproved of. He kept the blanket tight around his shoulders, wind climbing, and he could hear Natasha following behind them as they walked in a line through the icy terrain. Peter could already see the cabin in the distance. It was relatively small and not what he was expecting for Tony Stark, but also he didn’t even know if it was Tony’s or not. Maybe Mister Stark just knew it was there in the woods.

Things sounded loud. The ice hitting the ground as it fell from the trees and Peter’s head was still pounding from being held underwater and his mind was foggy. The anxiety was still there, as well as what he knew to be blood on his back and probably caked into his hair and seeping into his skin. But he tried to ignore it, and focused on the back of Mister Stark’s neck. Tried to ignore the fact that the guy’s blood was there because Mister Stark had done what he did. That all of this could have been avoided had Peter not gone on the mission, but God, when Captain America and Black Widow are offering to take you further upstate to intervene in an international terrorist weapons trade, what else was he supposed to say?

Ironically, when they made it to the small cabin, the key was above the door. One glance at Natasha’s face said it all, not very original, but as the door pushed open, Peter was surprised to find the inside was exactly as one would imagine a cabin to be. No high-tech objects on the walls, no impressive television screens. Just a couch, a kitchen, a small eating area and a hallway leading to the back where Peter assumed bedrooms would be.

Natasha hummed, the air cold and Peter watched Mister Stark go and flip on the breaker on the wall as Natasha stated, “Not what I would expect from you.”

Mister Stark didn’t respond. But Peter didn’t miss the photo on the wall with a smiling woman and a little dark-haired boy in her lap. The room smelled of wood and mothballs, like an old person’s house and the power switched on and Peter heard what he assumed to be a heater kick on. Even so, Tony approached a gas powered fireplace and flipped the bottom, flames coming to life underneath.

“Cozy,” Natasha went on, as if she was the only one there and Peter still could not find his voice. Tony glared this time, but then his eyes found Peter and they glazed over him, like he was just now seeing the blood and muck caked into the boy’s still damp hair. How Peter’s skin was pale and his left cheek was swollen from a hard punch that had left him dazed.

Tony gestured him forward and Peter hesitated in the slightest before moving. A hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder and he was tugged towards the hallway, casting one last look at Natasha before the two of them disappeared. It was colder in the back, without the instant warmth from the fireplace and Tony released him to go into one of the bedrooms. When he emerged, he had clothes in his hand, and he pushed them towards Peter before pointing towards the end of the hall and saying, “Bathroom is there.”

He then began to move away once more and Peter called, “Mister Stark!”

The man paused, turning just a little…

All Peter could manage in his unused voice was, “Why?”

_Why did you have to kill him?_

It was an underground sort of question, one that would maybe never be answered, and Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes burning. Mister Stark was blunt, emotionless, and turned blank immediately, “Go wash it off.”

_It…the blood._

Peter saw a spark of something behind Tony’s eyes, and he didn’t know if it was guilt or anger. They sometimes looked the same inside of his mentor, and Peter simply nodded his head, even though he was not offered an answer as to why the violence earlier had occurred. Peter knew deep down why, it was his own fault for getting grabbed, maybe his own fault for agreeing to go. But he turned and moved to the small bathroom, shutting the wooden door behind himself as he did so. The tub was clearly old and a pale blue color, probably from the 70s or something. Peter let the water run a bit, rinsing the dust from the bottom before turning it to heat. While it filled, he peeled his suit from his body, trying not to cringe at the sticky blood that had seeped through the fabric.

He caught a glance of himself in the mirror above the sink, the dried blood that was not his on the back of his neck and in his hair and Peter looked away quickly, trying to block out the way it looked and how it threatened to remain in his brain forever. He had enough nightmares, of Ben, of everything and he didn’t want to add that to the list. He flipped the bath to the shower, pulling up the lever before climbing inside.

Peter sat on the floor of the tub, wallowing but also marveling in the warm water and how it made everything within him come back to life, leaving behind the numbness in his toes. He ignored the way the brown and red ran down the drain and instead shut his eyes, hair plastering to his forehead, but washing away the ice that had formed there at the tips of his hair. It felt like thawing, being frozen and alone and Peter tried not to think about the way the limp body felt when it had fallen over his back and he shut his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand into his eyebrow.

His fingernails found the back of his neck and he scrubbed and scrubbed until he knew nothing could be left of the blood and the murder and he picked the underside of his nails as well, swallowing down any sort of tears that threatened because he wanted to hold it together, at least until he got home to Aunt May. He could be himself to her, there was no expectation, he didn’t have to be a soldier. But then again, could he cry in front of her and expect her to still allow him to do this? To be Spider-Man? To be around the Avengers?

Sometimes he was scared he couldn’t really open up at all.

…

…

…

When Tony walked back into the main room after hearing the bath water start, he was ready to tear into someone.

It felt like the early days, when he took the job of being a CEO a little too seriously, feeling the pressure of wanting to please his father on his shoulders. Getting angry at the smallest of mistakes and then turning out employees who really didn’t deserve it. It was another life, but he still found traces of that behavior in the back of his mind and he didn’t know if he would ever truly escape the angry genetics his father had passed to him. Even after Ultron and everything and learning from his mistakes and trying to throw money at his problems, like the students of MIT and saving what he had left of his legacy.

When he entered, he saw Natasha, staring at a framed picture in the corner of the room. Her arms were crossed over her chest, the room had started to warm from the fireplace. Before he had even passed through the threshold, he growled out through gritted teeth, “What the _fuck_ was that?”

Natasha turned to face him, finger pointing back at the picture and completely ignoring his question, “Is that baby Tony and his mother?”

“Shut up,” Tony insisted, and he couldn’t remember the last time he was so blind with rage. Probably three months ago, in the Siberian bunker, when his and Steve’s friendship had been completely damaged and everything – God it was so hard to save the Avengers and even so, they would never be the same. They were just lucky Ross had taken a step back to let them breathe, maybe realizing pissing off a bunch of highly trained people wasn’t the best idea. But the fight, the bruises, everything had still happened, and Tony didn’t know if he would ever forgive everyone involved. And God…Rhodey…and now this…

Tony went on, “Answer the question.”

Natasha put her hands in her pockets, moving around the couch away from the picture frame, “That’s more of a question for Steve. It was his idea and of course he and the others would take the jet and leave me with you. That’s what happens when you make an Alpha and Beta team though, they probably think we’re dead because of you.”

“No, he’s gonna be the one who’s dead,” Tony growled, “I leave the kid for an hour and you let Rogers recruit him for a high-level operation, are you out of your damn mind?”

She raised an eyebrow, “Says the guy that gave him a suit and let him take on a weapons criminal. I mean, this was pretty much the same deal –“

“These were international terrorists,” Tony snapped, moving forward, “A mission that would be difficult even for you, and you let a fifteen-year-old tag along for shits and giggles and he almost gets himself killed while you’re off galivanting. He would be dead right now if I hadn’t shown up but I guess you don’t care do you?”

Natasha’s mouth straightened. Suddenly the fight didn’t seem amusing to her and instead he could recognize the look on her face – the look of complete and utter daring, asking him to say something more just so she would have an excuse to tear him apart. She questioned, “And why would that be? Because I grew up in a facility of child soldiers? I’ve seen younger than him rip throats out of grown men.”

“So you’re condoning it?” Tony hissed.

“Never,” She growled, “I despise it, but I also know the little ones are the least threatening and they tend to get the most done. Plus, he was with us, he would have been safe if he had followed orders and stayed by my side.”

“That’s where you screwed up, expecting a kid to follow a soldier’s orders,” Tony pointed his index finger at her, “The kid isn’t yours, he wasn’t yours or Rogers’ to take out there.”

Tony turned on his heels, moving into the kitchen before yanking open a cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels, and he had no clue of how old it was, but he didn’t really care in the moment before taking out a shot glass. He filled it with the brown liquid, shutting his eyes as he downed it and heard Natasha’s footsteps following. He filled it again, and just as he was about to down that one, she snatched it away, asking, “And you think he’s yours?”

Tony snatched the shot glass back and downed that one too, hoping it could cure the anger in him, but he knew better. Whisky only made it worse, and he was nauseous. She continued, “Last I checked, you weren’t his father. He has no father, no uncle. And that’s why you’ve taken such an interest, yeah? A little orphan genius left to fend for himself in the big bad world. You see too much of yourself in him, but you know what the real kicker is? He’s good. And you know he’s better than you will ever be.”

“Would you shut up?” Tony spat.

“Just answer the question,” She mumbled, quieter this time, as if mocking his earlier order.

Tony’s fingers shook, he tilted his head, and looked her in the eyes. Natasha tilted her head too and whispered, as if afraid Peter would hear over the bathwater running in the background, “I still have access to legal…I saw your will.”

“Goddammit,” Tony grabbed the bottle by the neck and stepped around her, taking a swig straight from the bottle. He looked back at her and shook his head, “I’ll have Pepper on you.”

Natasha leaned back against the counter, “If she ever takes you back.”

Tony’s fingers tightened on the neck of the bottle, but he stood still in the space between the kitchen and the living room. He swallowed, then finally replied to the earlier question, stepping over anything having to do with Pepper, “I found that kid.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed, “Tony…are you so lonely that you’re falling into a ‘found family’ trope or something? Which, I can’t say I’m not guilty of it as well. What, Pepper left, and now…this? You can’t blame Steve for not knowing, you bring the kid to The Compound and leave to go do your own thing for hours, what were we supposed to think? We just thought he was another Wanda.”

“You’re supposed to leave him alone,” Tony could definitely feel those couple of shots already, like an instantaneous flood, but it wasn’t too much, just enough to make him willing to speak more freely. His teeth gritted, mind churning open and he stared at someone he considered to be a friend, but it felt so far away from that ever since Germany. Tony went on, “If he dies, you’re not the one that has to tell his aunt. You’re not the one that has to deal with it. He’s not another soldier, he’s not expendable.”

Natasha looked at him, almost curiously as she said, “He chose this life, Tony. You won’t be able to protect him forever.”

Tony didn’t know how the bottle made contact with the wall. How it shattered. How Natasha didn’t even flinch or react. How she just stood there, unreactive and Tony stared at the glass on the floor and he knew, he knew, he knew and he didn’t have to be told that protecting the kid was futile, death was up to him and whoever was inflicting it. But it made him sick to think about, he had recruited the kid, he had…done that.

Tony had gotten him into this situation, had he not?

But he struggled with it, struggled with believing that fully, because he saw Natasha, and Rogers, and they were the villains right now. Tony had done everything he could to keep Peter safe, he gave him a suit, he tried to stay updated, asked Happy for constant updates, basically put Happy on nanny duty because Tony couldn’t always be there. He wasn’t suited to be, and it was too complex, this was all too complex for his liking and he was trying so hard to learn, but it was hard…

“I understand now,” Tony whispered, staring at the glass, “I understand why Pepper begged me to stop.”

Natasha said nothing and Tony looked at her. They were friends. They had to be.

He sounded tired and defeated, “It might steal so many good things from the kid, but God I wish he’d quit.”

Natasha shook her head, “Then why did you ask him to join the team?”

“It was the only way to save him.”

Natasha sighed and looked down. She so rarely showed that emotion around him. Yes they were friends, but they weren’t the same, not like she was with others and not how he was with others. Their friendship was more spiteful and humorous and angry than anything else. They got a kick out of making each other angry and frustrated. But her eyes looked sympathetic and she replied, “That’s what they used to tell us. The only way to stay alive was to work under them.”

He knew what she meant by them, he had read into her past enough.

A floorboard squeaked, and both Tony and Natasha looked towards the mouth of the hallway. Peter was there, the left side of his face a bit swollen where he had been hit apparently. His hair was wet, and he was wearing a hoodie and sweats Tony had given him, clothes that no doubt smelled like mothballs from being in the cabin for so long. Clothes he had worn as a teenager. The boy’s eyes were flickering from Tony, to the glass on the floor, and to Natasha.

Immediately, at being noticed, Peter stuttered, “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping, I just…I heard yelling and I thought – I heard glass and…”

“There’s a room down the hall,” Tony’s voice was blank, devoid, and he hated himself for the way Peter’s mouth shut immediately as if he had been silenced by Howard Stark, “You should go to bed, we’re leaving as soon as we can get in contact with Rogers. I’m not gonna try to get that van through this snow.”

Peter hesitated. It was brief, looking between the adults again and he looked like he had more. Another ‘why’ sort of question, but what could Tony tell him? The why…well, it had been rage.

And Peter turned on his bare feet, disappearing.

…

…

…

His nose burned from the dust.

After the yelling, the cabin had gone silent and Peter laid, fairly awake in the room and staring at the ceiling. There was definitely a heating system coming through the vents now, and he felt much warmer, even if the blankets were old and scratchy. He held them close to his chest though, blinking in the darkness. The moon was drowned by the snow outside, slapping against the window behind his head. He tried to listen to see if Natasha and Tony would argue more, but if they did, they were whispering.

He wondered how angry Aunt May would be. Radio silence for over twenty-four hours was a way to piss her off, and he could only imagine her showing up at the Compound and the remaining members of the team and Happy trying to calm her terrifying rage as Cap and the others searched the wilderness for them.

Peter wondered if Mister Stark had managed to contact them. He imagined Mister Stark building a powerful radio that could contact anyone from the van. Their stolen van. Peter supposed if he couldn’t they’d just leave in the van. But the snow had to let up first.

His mind drifted and Peter dreamed that maybe Tony had once been small. That his mother had brought him to this cabin. That they had gone ice fishing and during the summer just swimming or canoeing on the lake. That it was a place to escape NYC and a place to hide. Peter knew Mister Stark didn’t exactly have the best relationship with his father, and maybe this was where they came to hide from him. An entire narrative was born in his head, but also…also he imagined why the broken glass was on the ground. Why Mister Stark was so angry.

And Peter knew it had to be his fault.

His fingers pressed into the mattress occasionally to remind himself not to sleep too deeply, if they had to leave soon. He kept listening to the snow against the glass, and waiting and waiting for the headache at the base of his neck to subside. To stop feeling like the blood was still sticking to his skin. Peter wanted to ask, but he knew he never could get the answer, as to the why…why Tony had to kill someone. And Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t angry, because he was. It wasn’t what he wanted, there should have been another way.

There could have been another way.

_Water, nose, electricity, warm, body._

_Peter sat up, gasping and sputtering. His fingers dug into the rocks below him, feeling it through the fabric of his gloved hands as he pushed the body off his back and tried to regain oxygen. The man fell to the side, eyes wide, the water turning red as he plopped against a shallow grave trickling. Peter blinked, before letting out a shout and jumping back, hands catching himself behind him and he pushed himself away on his bottom, but he could feel the warmth of blood seeping through his clothes, it was different than the icy cold water –_

_“Kid, kid.”_

_Metal hands, and he was being yanked around, his face was grabbed, mask ripped off, and inspected but Peter kept looking at the body, kept trying to process, and he croaked hoarsely after drowning for a few moments, “No, no, no – “_

_“Look at me.”_

_“Mister Stark –“_

_“Kid –“_

_“Why did you –“_

_“Look at me!”_

_Peter did, head whipping around and he met the open mask of Tony’s wide gaze, angry and frightened all at the same time. Not the face of someone who had just killed another human being. Peter breathed weakly, voice cracking, “You killed him.”_

_“Are you okay?”_

_“Mister Stark,” Peter tried again, pushing the man’s hands from him, hands that were searching for injuries, “You killed him – I…I-I don’t…”_

_It was ignored again, “Answer my question.”_

_“I’m **fine** ,” Peter seethed out, pushing Mister Stark away with a betrayed expression in his eyes. Mister Stark barely budged, the suit keeping him steady, kneeling in front of Peter in the freezing water where he shivered, small and pale. Peter looked away, seeing the man’s empty gaze, and he moved forward anyway, barely pressing his fingers to the man’s neck before Mister Stark was grabbing him and pulling him to his feet. _

_“We’re going,” Mister Stark said, but Peter couldn’t rip his eyes from the corpse, “Get up, we’re going.”_

“Up! Get up!”

A loud, unfamiliar voice shouted and Peter sat up in the bed just in time to have a flashlight shoved in his face, blinding him. He held up his hands, and someone grabbed his wrist, yanking him to his feet and he felt something hard hit him on his spine as several other flashlights invaded the room. The back of Peter’s hair was grabbed and he was dragged down the hallway, several voices shouting as flashlights blinded him on the walls before he was brought into the living room, and forced on his knees with his hands behind his head.

Peter blinked blearily, yanked from his dream to the real world. Kneeling beside him was Tony, and then Natasha, both in the same position as he was, but both looking much less shocked and afraid than him. Peter swallowed, looking around at the people in the room, all dressed in black with military boots and ski masks, holding rifles in their hands with flashlights on the end. Peter swallowed, brain trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but he recognized the black recon gear from the men they had seen earlier, the men involved in the international terrorist organization that they were infiltrating.

One of the men stepped forward, and Peter tried to clear his mind enough to count but he was struggling, with the lights in their eyes and their dark clothes in a dark room. The man in front of them pointed his gun directly at Mister Stark and Peter’s eyes went wide and his mouth was dry as the man spoke, “Anthony Stark?”

Mister Stark said nothing, before finally replying, “Is that a question?”

Apparently, the men weren’t fans of sarcasm, because the end of the gun came down, wacking Mister Stark across the face. Natasha didn’t flinch, but Peter shot out a hand to grab the weapon, only for another one of the men to step forward and kick him in the stomach, sending him sprawling. Peter heard Mister Stark curse loudly before snapping, “Alright, yeah, it’s the one and only. How can I _help_ you?”

“You and your men confiscated some of our merchandize earlier today,” The man replied, “We’d like to have it back.”

“Well first of all, we aren’t all men so that’s kinda sexist,” Mister Stark nodded his head to Natasha and Peter remained lying on his side, a gun pointed in his face from the man that had kicked him. Tony went on, “And second of all, you’ve got the wrong team. Alpha squad took your illegal weapons and they’re long gone.”

There was a raised eyebrow in response, “Should I be impressed by your ability to conceal the truth?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Tony snipped, “But it’s not a lie. We don’t have your weapons. In fact, we just got separated from our team, so if you’d like to stick around until they get here with their much bigger guns, be my guest. But I’ve got nothing to share.”

There was a beat of silence. The two men staring closely at one another, unflinching and Peter supposed Mister Stark had seen much more frightening men elsewhere. There was a glance amongst the baddies, but Peter didn’t miss the way the lead guy nodded his head towards Peter, and almost immediately without warning, hands were coming down and grabbing him, yanking him to his feet.

Shouting erupted, orders amongst the men, as well as Mister Stark shouting at them, but being drowned out. Some men stayed to keep their weapons pointed at Mister Stark was Peter was dragged to the dining room table and shoved down on the wooden top. Peter pulled at the hands on his ankles and wrists, but he was afraid of overpowering them with so many guns pointed at Natasha and Mister Stark, and not to mention pointed at himself. Peter was shoved down flat, his hand laid out to his side and the man that had been speaking to Mister Stark approached, reaching into his vest and pulling out what appeared to be a hunting knife. The metal made contact with his wrist, and the man turned to Tony and Natasha said, “Did you know an open wound to the wrist can cause a person to bleed out in minutes? It’s probably why it’s one of the most popular methods of taking one’s life.”

“Well that’s terrific,” Tony growled, “But I don’t think we need a goddamn demonstration.”

The man hummed, “I think we do, unless you feel it in your heart to share the location of our weapons.”

Peter’s eyes widened when the knife pressed down, and almost immediately he could feel the sting of it breaking through his skin. Peter groaned, shutting his eyes tightly as Mister Stark shouted, “Stop! What the fuck do you want me to tell you, huh!? I don’t have the weapons!”

“Wrong answer,” Warmth slid through the skin, but there was hesitance there, maybe an expectance of Mister Stark telling him what he was asking. He continued, “This is why you don’t bring children on business trips, Stark. They can be so…compelling.”

Tony ground out, “You want weapons? I can build you some. I can build you whatever the hell you want, but if you keep cutting into that kid, I’m gonna paint the walls with the inside of your head.”

Peter had never heard Mister Stark say something like that, but the hesitance stopped, and there was a push to go deeper. However, when Peter let out a yelp of pain, he heard Mister Stark snap, “Nat.”

Peter’s eyes opened and he looked over just in time to see Natasha moving to her feet, bringing along a small end table. She smashed it over the guy’s head in front of her and the man fell to the ground, Natasha following along, snatching his rifle from his hands as she fell in front of the couch in a ducked position. The knife dropped, and the hands on his ankles and wrists disappeared as he heard Mister Stark shout, “Peter go! Get out!”

Peter sat up on the table, using his barefoot to slam into another man’s face under his ski mask. He grabbed a discarded center vase, but before he was going to use it to slam into another man’s head, he was tackled from the table around his middle, sending the both of them out the small dining room window. Glass shattered, and they landed sharply into the snow, a mess of limbs and struggling. Peter couldn’t find the gun, though he knew it had to be there between them and once he managed to kick the guy off of him, he immediately took off on foot towards the clearing, snow making his toes instantaneously numb as he started towards the frozen lake in the distance.

Peter glanced back several times, hearing the gun popping off behind him and the bullets whizzing by his ears. His hands flew to his head and he ducked each time as if it could save him, his senses on fire as he finally made it to the edge of the frozen lake. He took off across it, the same man following behind him still and he could hear the bullets breaking through the ice, only inches from his own feet. The snow was clinging to Peter’s hair and lashes, blinding him as he nearly slipped.

_This is bad, this is real bad._

Another gunshot, but this time Peter felt his calf burning and almost as soon as the sound vibrated through the air, Peter fell to the ground, groaning and sliding a few feet.

_This is worse._

Peter sat up, trying to push himself away with his hands, as blood pooled over the ice. Even in the dark, he could see it was bright red, the footsteps sliding to a stop in front of him as the rifle was then pointed just inches from his face. The man snapped, “Fucking move and I’ll blow your nose off, kid.”

Peter bit his tongue, and looked up through his bangs, breathing heavily as he placed a hand where his leg was pooling. His eyes glanced downward as the man spoke into his com, “I got the kid.”

The snow continued, and Peter looked at the ice where a single hole had emerged, probably the exit from the wound on his leg and where it had cracked a few inches around it. Peter swallowed, looking back up at the man as he said into the com, “Anyone there? I got the kid out here – should I get him back?”

Maybe it was com silence. Which was a good sign.

“Hello?” He tried again.

“Hey,” Peter spoke this time, and the man looked at him through the ski mask. Peter ground his teeth, leg pulsing with pain as he pressed down one last time over the blood and continued casually, though his teeth were chattering, “Your shoes’ untied.”

On impulse, he knew, the guy glanced down – not for long as Peter lunged, grabbing the hot barrel of the gun. He pointed it downward, and the man pulled the trigger on reflex, hitting the ice where it had already been compromised, sending both of them through the cracks and into the water.

It was like knives in Peter’s lungs when his head went under, so much like earlier when he was being held below. Peter resurfaced, gasping and gagging for oxygen as he tried to bring air into his lungs. It looked as if the other guy had lost his gun, but hands found Peter’s shoulders and like something out of Titanic, Peter was shoved down because of the other man’s own panic. Peter could tell this was not the same as the man from earlier, this was not intentional even if this guy wanted him dead. They were both floundering for oxygen to escape the cold and now Peter was being used as a life raft.

Peter swung, elbow making contact with the guy’s face and he fell over, limply, facedown in the water. Peter gasped, breath coming out in puffs of air in front of his face as he dragged himself to the edge of the ice, clawing to escape. He lifted his good leg the best he could and simply rolled out of the water instead of trying to drag himself up and risk breaking more ice. He then slid to the edge, grabbing the man by his vest and pulling him out as well, lying him on his side in case he coughed up any of the swallowed water his body may have brought in.

He laid on his own side, curling up tightly and shutting his eyes as his leg continued to gush across the ice. He could not, for the life of him, believe he had once again almost drowned…All in a span of 24-hours. Fucking miraculous. He had all the best luck. He slid his fingers over his wrist, finding that too was bleeding, though not as profusely as it could have, had the guy not stopped cutting him open there in the dining room.

Peter’s eyes shut slowly, remnants of what he knew to be blood loss taking hold. He felt cold, but it didn’t process as painful anymore. In fact, the sound of the snow was relatively peaceful there on the ice. The last thing he heard was someone shouting, and bright lights from a fucking UFO shining in his face.

Ned was never going to believe any of it.

…

…

…

Crude silence had befallen them.

The kid lay on the metal gurney in the Compound. Tony’s shoes were still soaked from the snow, his eye blackened from the back of a gun slamming into it. Natasha’s nose was swollen, everyone else on the team had gotten their earful from Tony, but it was brief because they had stitched the kid’s leg and everyone had gone on their little merry way, more so just to get away from Tony’s emotional tirade. Really, Pepper had been his emotional barricade and now that their relationship had been toast…well…anyway.

Tony had been keeping his distance. The doctor had told him when Peter had woken up, but Tony had yet to go upstairs and actually see the kid himself. That distance sometimes felt more comforting, which was why Happy was so often left on nanny duty. Tony twiddled his thumbs, but pretended to be busy in his lab so that he didn’t have to face the kid, the emotional backlash, knowing he had caused Peter pain by doing what he had done, and knowing it wasn’t something a kid like Peter could easily let go, because of his unfaltering morals that Tony sometimes despised and yet admired.

The Compound had been unusually quiet ever since Germany and Siberia. Everyone was just…walking around each other as if expecting an attack from a friend, and Peter had brought some life back to it, and yet there they were again, in their quiet. And when May found out, she might take the kid anyway, so it didn’t matter. Tony would have to tell her, but right now it had been pushed off, blamed on extra training which she supported for the sheer fact that she thought that it could save Peter’s life one day. A lot of damn good it had done them on their little mini-vacation through the upstate snow.

He stared at the wall, until they hit the eleven o’clock mark and he heard the sound of the door sliding open. He half expected to see Steve or Natasha coming to scold him about not going to see the kid. Steve hadn’t gotten his ass kicking purely because Tony was tired but when the time came it would surely be a surprise. Instead though, he saw the kid standing there, his leg bandaged along with his wrist, putting his weight on only one crutch. His face was bruised and he looked tired and pale, but he stood there staring as if he was trying to look adult.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Tony questioned, but his voice came out more bored than he had intended from the exhaustion. He was sort of jealous that the kid had the option to sleep and wasn’t utilizing it.

Peter moved forward, crutch clicking against the floor as he grunted, “I woke up.”

There was an undertone there that Tony didn’t miss…

_I woke up and I was alone._

Like being born, he supposed, but he felt guilty again. Tony tilted his head, placing his finger on his eyebrow as he leaned his elbow on his table and looked at Peter a few times. Peter stopped approaching, and just stood there, looking again like he was trying too hard to be an adult, and there was something on the edge of the kid’s tongue. Tony could always tell when Peter wanted to say something or ask something, it was as if his body vibrated, waiting for the chance to spit it out. Tony sighed, before questioning, “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Peter replied, “I think…I think I’ve pretty much healed in the past few hours. It’s usually pretty quick.”

Tony forgot about the kid’s abilities sometimes. But it made sense. Bruises during training usually disappeared by dinner or at least faded enough so that the kid wouldn’t be reported into the system. Tony always lost his shit when the others hit too hard, the last thing May needed was for CPS to be kicking down her door. Which was partly why he was procrastinating on telling her, to save her from that worry of losing the only family member she had left.

Peter cleared his throat, “And you?”

God it was awkward. The kid got closer, before slowly sitting on a nearby stool and propping his crutch against the table. Tony sighed, and answered, “Just some bruises, kid. I’m getting too old for international terrorists though. Which is why I had intended to skip that trip…Which leads me to this conversation…”

Tony scooted his stool closer, before grabbing the bottom of Peter’s and sliding it towards himself. Peter looked away, as if he knew, and he probably did, but Tony put his elbow on the table beside them and set his chin on his knuckles before questioning, “What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

When Peter said nothing and just continued to stare at the wall, Tony swiped a finger across Peter’s face, causing the kid to jump to attention and Tony whistled, “Focus up.”

“Right,” Peter sniffed, rubbing his hands on his knees like he did when he was nervous, and Tony wondered when he had learned such mannerisms on the kid, “Right, uh…Well, I was doing homework…And they were getting ready to leave and C-Captain…asked if I was interested in going and he put me on Beta with…Black Widow…”

The words came out choppy. Peter’s voice grew a few pitches, cracking out like a child caught in a cookie jar. Tony supposed he knew, he knew it had been Rogers that had offered the field experience. He knew Peter had been paired with Natasha, but he guessed he just wanted to torture himself with it after Friday had informed him that Peter was upstate on the mission and Tony had gotten in his suit as quickly as possible, only to find some asshole drowning the kid.

Peter’s eyes kept venturing away and Tony snapped his fingers once more and when Peter was looking him in the eyes, he said, “You’re not ready for field missions.”

The boy’s face dropped, jaw opening, “Yes I am.”

“No, you’re not,” Tony replied sharply, “Did you not realize that when I got there, you were being murdered? Natasha was busy with other guys, they can’t be out there babysitting you, you have to hold your own and you’re not ready for that yet.”

Peter scoffed, “He caught me by surprise.”

“And that guy tonight?” Tony questioned, “On the ice? Nat and I found you unconscious.”

Peter’s back straightened, and he gripped the knees of his sweats under his hands before shaking his head back and forth and denying, “I was okay. I would have been okay, and I would have been okay with the other guy. I could have fought back, and you could have done something else without _murdering_ him.”

The way Peter said it…There was venom in his voice and Tony knew it was going to come to life eventually. Especially after he had seen all the horror in Peter’s eyes following the predicament. Tony leaned forward, forcing Peter to hold his gaze before he asked, “You had that? Him drowning you was having that?”

“Even if I didn’t,” Peter ground out, “You didn’t have to kill him.”

Tony scoffed, looked away, then found Peter once more and nodded, “You’re right, I didn’t. But I did. I did, because he pissed me off. I did because he was trying to kill you, and if I gotta pick between you and some terrorist asshole, I’d do it all over again because I’m not an idiot.”

Peter’s face sank, and Tony decided that was the moment the hero worship probably was going to change forever. Peter didn’t look stoic anymore, more so he looked sincerely mournful and devastated. Peter shook his head and whispered softly, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“It’s wrong,” Peter insisted, “If you…if you don’t have to kill someone, you shouldn’t…otherwise, we can’t tell the difference between us and the bad guys.”

Tony had held that sentiment. When he had reached to save Obie from falling to his death, he had held it so tightly, and then had almost been dragged down with him. Tony swallowed, and it was painful to see the way Peter had come to the end of this rope and had figured this out and Tony felt sick. Tony ground his teeth, “And what would you have had me choose?”

“To let him live,” Peter replied easily.

Sometimes, Tony saw so much of himself in Peter. Like he was a mirror. But, then other times he realized Peter was better than he could ever be, and part of him was jealous and the other part was infinitely glad he had found him. He wasn’t the orphaned genius that Natasha was describing, but he was something incredibly dear to Tony. And he made Tony want to be better, but at the same time…made him want to be worse. Vehemently so.

Tony exhaled, and patted the side of Peter’s face before sitting up straight and looking away. Peter was not a keepsake, but he was going to grow up and he was going to do good things, and Tony wanted to help him, and he wanted the world to have someone they could trust and maybe Tony wasn’t the one to decide that, but he was a doomsday prepper, after all, and Peter…

Peter could be the suit of armor around the world.

Except…minus the killerbot, but rather a person with morals that were annoyingly unfaltering.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Tony whispered, “But I…I wouldn’t take it back.”

Peter swallowed, and Tony saw the way his eyes appeared to turn pink around the edges and they were watering and it had never been his intention to make the kid cry, so he just shut his eyes as Peter responded weakly, “I…I can…for the both of us. You know, be sorry.”

And when Tony opened his eyes, he wondered how Howard could ever look at Tony and just watch him cry before sending him off to his mother or a nanny. The tears had spilled and Peter tried to blink them away, but it was one of those times where it was hard and Peter looked away, taking in a huge gulp of air, and Tony imagined his throat clogging with tears. Once he had been there, in that place, so swallowed by emotion but trying to keep it pushed down in front of someone he felt could not see it and could not understand. Tony felt uncomfortable, sure, but…he held Pepper when she cried and he had held Rhodey before, and Rhodey and Pepper had held him and even though it was foreign and frightening and not the Stark way, Tony took a deep breath and stood from the stood, wrapping firm arms around the boy.

“Alright, alright,” Tony murmured, placing his chin on the kid’s head, “I got ya, kid.”

Peter’s shoulders trembled, but there were not sobs as the boy bit down on his lip and Tony kept his chin on the kid’s head. It was only a few moments later, that Peter hugged him back from his place still sitting on the stool, fingers gripping the back of Tony’s t-shirt as if he was about to drift into unknown cosmos.

And Tony realized…they would probably never see the Before ever again.


End file.
